


An Acceptably Secure Prospect

by SouthernContinentSkies



Series: Demisexual Gregor verse [1]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Demisexual!Gregor, Fade to Black, ImpSec mission creep, M/M, Time Period: Reign of Gregor Vorbarra, of emergencies i mean, smooth and decisive handling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 00:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21290777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernContinentSkies/pseuds/SouthernContinentSkies
Summary: The top of the flimsy read, “List Of Acceptably Secure Prospects,” marking it as the latest in Simon Illyan’s periodic attempts to facilitate Gregor’s lackluster personal life.
Relationships: Gregor Vorbarra/Simon Illyan
Series: Demisexual Gregor verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534823
Comments: 14
Kudos: 51





	An Acceptably Secure Prospect

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by philomytha, who, when I said I was writing a Gregor/Simon WIP, said, paraphrased, “Oh! Did Simon write a list of acceptably secure sexual partners for Gregor and put his own name on it? Because I would read that.” And, well, I wasn’t, but. Now y’all can read that.

Ensconced in the most comfortable chair in the back parlor of his private suite, Gregor sipped his tea and surveyed his evening paperwork. Not too bad, tonight: a stack of only moderately important reports, two non-urgent security updates, and a handful of proposed senior personnel transfers in Galactic Affairs. The files were spread over the surface of the coffee table, an angular modern piece that matched the design of the parlor. The firelight played up the reddish tones of the wood, and the crackling and popping from the grate was, blissfully, the only sound in the room. 

As he paged through the Ministry of Agriculture’s thick report on Advances In Topsoil On The Southern Continent, a loose flimsy fell out. Curious, he turned it over, only to immediately deflate in irritation. The top of the flimsy read, “List Of Acceptably Secure Prospects,” marking it as the latest in Simon Illyan’s periodic attempts to facilitate Gregor’s lackluster personal life. He must have slipped it into Gregor’s copy during their afternoon briefing session. It was old and very tired news, then; not remotely as interesting as a potential forgotten piece of Ministerial gossip.

As he was about to ball it up and throw it away - previous attempts to return such lists to their originator in any more pointed manner having had absolutely no effect - something about the flimsy caught his eye. Reopening it, he saw that this list was, in one very salient aspect, very different from the previous eight iterations. Instead of Therese Vorreedi, Sonia Patrios, or Maryam Voraronberg, this list began with “Alain Vorinnis.”

Gregor sighed. After declining any and all women for years, he supposed the suggestion of men was inevitable. Nobody seemed to believe that his lack of interest had more to do with the context of the individuals presented than with their attributes. Even Cordelia, so understanding in other aspects, remained convinced that if he just met or considered enough people, eventually he would find someone he found immediately attractive. 

At twenty-eight, however, Gregor knew himself better than that. Physical attraction on its own was a foreign concept to him, and the Residence social calendar did not provide appropriate opportunities for the type of deeper acquaintance that might open that door. Dance-adjacent small talk was simply not adequate to foster the actual personal connection, or unveil the complexity of mind, that Gregor found truly interesting.

The last time he had actually felt such an attraction, in fact, had been with Vordrozda, though he hoped Simon didn’t know about that. There was no reason he should; it had never gone beyond overly personal confidences and the occasional lingering touch. But it had been a revelation for Gregor, to finally have built a bridge to another person strong enough to cross, and to find them waiting with open arms on the other side. To use their eyes to finally see the true, embodied nature of previously abstract phrases: “heated glance,” “electric spark,” “burning desire.” And then, finally, to feel all of it turn to ashes in his hands, disappearing in the flash of a needler never fired. After seven years, the entire cavalcade of emotion was no longer a preoccupation, but it did sting when he happened to think of it.

Overall, he supposed he wouldn’t mind washing that residual taste out of his mouth, but the usual parade of Suitable Women (or even Simon’s appendices of Unsuitable ones) did not present viable options.

Then again, he supposed it was possible that he might be able to get closer to a man, given the lack of a propriety-mandated group setting or duenna. Perhaps, with an actual substantive conversation or two under their belts, there might be someone who turned out to be interesting. If nothing else, picking someone to at least make an attempt with would get Simon and Cordelia to stop mentioning the topic, for awhile.

With this possibility in mind, Gregor scanned down the list. After Alain Vorinnis were several more names that he recognized only vaguely; one was a Minister’s son, he thought, and another might be the secretary for the Head of Domestic Affairs. He grimaced faintly. It was one thing to know ImpSec kept tabs on everything but his heartrate; he didn’t need to invite them into bed with him as well.

Then, suddenly, the name “Ivan Vorpatril” jumped off the list at him, and Gregor had to spend several minutes trying to clear the tea out of his lungs before he triggered some sort of health alarm.

“My god,” he said out loud, once he collected himself. “_Ivan?_ Argh, Simon, what is wrong with you?” 

He was only marginally surprised when no disembodied voice supplied an answer.

Gregor understood that his cousin was generally considered attractive, and that he had at one point literally been featured on a recruitment poster (along with, for variety, an objectively attractive blond prole), but… no. The mind boggled, or at least his did. Strictly speaking, third cousins didn’t even register on the scale of Vor incest and inbreeding, but they’d still grown up very close. He hadn’t quite been there for the diaper changes, but he had enough memories of toddler and child Ivan wallowing in the mud, eating inappropriate objects, and flinging horse manure, that it hardly mattered. Besides, while Lieutenant Lord Vorpatril had a variety of admirable qualities, “complexity of mind” had never been one of them.

Still shaking his head, Gregor reached for his tea again as he went back to the list. This turned out to be a mistake, because the next name on the list was such a shock that he only narrowly avoided an immediate reprise of his coughing fit.

The next name on the list was Simon Illyan.

Gregor lowered the list to his lap, and stared blankly at the wall for several minutes, his tea forgotten in his other hand. With difficulty, he resisted the temptation to look around for a camera. Active ImpSec monitoring ended at the boundaries of his private rooms unless he activated it, and Simon would never do something like this as a prank. Unfortunately, that left him contemplating the astonishing possibility that Simon was absolutely serious.

On the one hand, the idea was ridiculous. Simon was twenty-three years older than he was, and had spent decades working closely with the nearest thing to a father figure Gregor had. He practically embodied ImpSec, and as such had also spent a good portion of the last two decades personally surveilling Gregor. Speaking of disqualifying childhood memories. It transcended belief that the man would even be interested. 

On the other hand… he had made the list, and he had put himself on it. And Captain Simon Illyan also had a variety of admirable qualities, and “complexity of mind” was _absolutely_ one of them. The average observer might think immediately of the chip, but Gregor knew that Simon’s capabilities went far beyond that. He thought of the years of morning security briefings: everything in the Nexus that Gregor needed to know, at the level he needed to know it, with an economy of presentation that only stretched past half an hour in the throes of a serious emergency. That was a skill. The chip might stand in for an assistant feeding him data, but it couldn’t feed him analysis, synthesis, or priorities. To say nothing of his smooth and decisive handling of emergencies. 

No, it was on his own flesh-and-blood merits that Simon was the center of the Imperium’s vast intelligence network, every strand of it. He wove the data from his operatives together with the memos from his analysts into a tapestry of actionable information, sometimes on very little notice. The ability of the Fleet, the Residence, and Imperial Security itself to respond to events was predicated on the fruits of Captain Illyan’s Horus-eyed advance guard, both in the field and in the bowels of HQ. And he commanded them with the same precision: the spider at the center of the Imperium, plucking one thread and causing a particular vibration a dozen jumps away, at just the right pitch to knock a foreign agent out of orbit.

Gregor did not often get to witness Simon at work, as most Security operations were accomplished at arms’ length, through brief, coded messages via comconsole or courier. On one memorable occasion, however, a slow-moving Domestic Affairs investigation had broken open into a high-speed but surreally surreptitious lightflyer chase while Simon was in Gregor’s Residence office. Gregor had ceded his own secured comconsole to Simon, and sat back to watch while his Chief of Security choreographed pursuing plainclothes agents, rerouted Vorbarr Sultana’s civilian traffic control, and directed the impromptu arrests of several suddenly flushed-out co-conspirators - all without causing any collateral damage, breaking anyone’s cover, or revealing the operation to the public as anything more than an unusually bad rush-hour snarl.

Afterwards, Simon had turned to Gregor and said simply, “It’s done, Sire,” with such understated victorious satisfaction that Gregor imagined he could hear an invisible, entirely unprofessional smile. Later, he practiced the tone for his own use, as punctuation in particularly appropriate Ministerial meetings - but the corresponding facial expression he kept entirely to himself.

As the memory faded, Gregor realized he was breathing rather more quickly than usual, and that the image of Simon’s triumphantly contented face had sent a wave of unaccustomed tingling down his spine.

_Oh_, he thought. _I remember that feeling. Well. Of all the ways for Simon’s list-making to finally spark a response_.

Before he could commit to his reaction, however, Gregor needed to first make sure that this was a genuine offer on Simon’s part, and not merely an extension of his boundless sense of duty; that would be unbearable.

His glance fell on the comconsole. No, he decided, that would be too impetuous. He wasn’t eighteen anymore, kissing Henri on a whim in the cadet barracks because it was what people seemed to do. He would sleep on it, and find some time to talk to Simon tomorrow, in person, like a responsible adult.

—-

In retrospect, sleeping on it had not been entirely a wise choice. Gregor’s dreams had featured dress greens and Horus eyes in a decidedly non-regulation context, and when he awoke to the sound of his alarm, he was both flustered at the unaccustomed subject matter, and annoyed with his subconscious for falling into such Barrayaran cliches. They didn’t even make sense in this case; he wasn't an exhibitionist, and ImpSec was hardly likely to cart _him_ off to some subterranean interrogation. Feeling unsettled, he opted for coffee rather than his usual tea at breakfast, but even the bite of the expertly-brewed arabica failed to cut through the afterimages.

The morning security briefing was, as a consequence, unusually fraught. Gregor couldn’t manage to look Simon in the eye, or even in the general vicinity - too much chance of his gaze landing on the suddenly-significant collar tabs - without risking a blush, and glued his eyes to his empty breakfast plate instead. Simon clearly noticed, but, as usual, made no comment without an invitation.

Eventually, Gregor managed to recover himself well enough to pay full attention, and to request another meeting at the end of the day.

“Whenever is convenient, Simon,” he said, as casually as possible. “It’s not urgent. As long as it’s the last thing on your agenda.”

“Here, or in your Residence office, Sire?” Simon asked, with the glassy edge to his gaze that signified ongoing chip access. He must be reviewing his own calendar.

“Here, Simon, thank you,” Gregor replied, managing to keep the nervousness out of his voice. He did know how to diplomatically conceal his emotions, but he’d never before had to use that skill for this particular purpose.

Luckily, Simon’s mind appeared to be too firmly on business to notice anything further. “Very well, Sire. I’ll see you at nine.”

It was currently only just eight. After he left, Gregor allowed himself a second cup of coffee, and a moment to collect himself, before leaving his private rooms for his official office. It was going to be a very long day.

\---

That evening, Gregor waited impatiently in the front parlor. Barring a national emergency, Simon wouldn’t be late, but this knowledge didn’t keep him from watching the clock, as though it might somehow move differently if he didn’t. At this point, he was strung tight enough that he wasn’t sure whether he wanted it to move faster or slower.

At exactly 9:00, Gerard opened the outer door to admit the Chief of ImpSec for his scheduled meeting.

As soon as Gerard had left and closed the door behind him, Gregor cleared his throat.

”This isn’t really a professional meeting, Simon,” he said, forestalling any awkward formalities. “It’s... about that list.”

Thankfully, Simon did not bother fishing for clarification. “You are, of course, free to ignore it entirely, or to substitute your own selection, Sire,” he said. “However, you might at least consider -”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Gregor quickly. He had heard enough iterations of the It Is Healthy For A Young Man To Have Desires speech to last him the rest of his life, and it would be beyond awkward listening to Simon run through it again now, under the circumstances. 

“What I mean is,” he continued, “is it just a list of security results? Or do you actually have some idea that the people on it would be interested?”

Simon gave him an unreadable look. This was the first time Gregor had done anything with one of these lists more positive than ignoring it; perhaps he was merely surprised.

“We have some reason to believe that each person on the list would, at a minimum, not be averse to an approach,” he said neutrally. “If you had a specific person in mind, Sire, I could give you more information.”

Gregor was distracted from his worry over that mysterious “we” - how many ImpSec agents did it take to run a procurement operation? - by an even more disturbing thought.

“Wait,” he said, aghast. “But - _Ivan?_” Surely his cousin hadn’t been nursing some sort of crush. He wouldn’t even call Gregor on leave! Or - oh no - perhaps that was _why_ he didn’t call…

“Lieutenant Lord Vorpatril is noted for his prolific social life, his casual but positive associations with sexual activity, and his willingness to help his friends,” said Simon, poker-faced.

“Oh,” said Gregor, only moderately reassured. “Yes, but, with men?”

Simon merely raised an eyebrow.

“Uh,” said Gregor, derailed for a moment. “Right, well, putting all that _completely_ aside - the point is, I wouldn’t want to go to bed with someone who was just indulging me, or who saw me as a charity case. Or, worse, someone for whom it was some sort of duty, or obligation. The ethics would be questionable, and I’d just end up feeling worse. So, what I’m asking you is, would the people on the list be, for their own reasons, interested in _me?_” 

Simon hesitated, very briefly. “To the extent that that can be ascertained without actually asking them, yes.”

Gregor forced himself to keep his eyes on Simon’s face. This was made easier by the fact that Simon seemed to be avoiding his gaze, instead staring past him to the opposite wall.

“So,” he said slowly, “does that include you, then?”

Simon froze. His eyes alone moved, flicking back to Gregor’s.

“You put yourself on the list, Simon,” Gregor said quietly. “Did you mean it?”

Simon took his time answering. “‘I wouldn’t want to go to bed with someone who was just indulging me,’” he said finally, parroting Gregor’s words back to him, perfectly as always. “‘Or who saw me as a charity case. Or, worse, someone for whom it was some sort of duty, or obligation. The ethics would be questionable, and I’d just end up feeling worse.’”

“It’s not like that,” said Gregor, swallowing. “And it’s not curiosity, either, chip or otherwise. I wouldn’t do that to you. When I saw that you put yourself on the list, I was shocked - but then I started thinking about it, and…” He waved a vague gesture into the air. “I know you, Simon. I’ve had your voice in my ear for years. Once I thought about it, it was a much more attractive idea than any of the Suitable Vor Maidens. Or their brothers.”

“A fossil of an officer who got his commission under your grandfather?” Simon’s voice took on a hint of dryness. “If it’s ImpSec you wanted, I could have thrown you Byerly Vorrutyer.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” said Gregor intently. “You’re my Shadow General, Simon, the left hand of my government and the wall at my back. I don’t see age or decrepitude when I look at you, for god’s sake; I see your competence; your devotion; the strength of your heart, and the complicated brilliance of your mind.”

“My mind,” said Simon flatly. “You mean-”

“I mean your _mind_, Simon,” Gregor said firmly, holding Simon’s gaze. “Not its particular substructures, organic or otherwise.” 

Simon did not respond to this, holding himself very still except for a fleeting tightness across his brow. Gregor couldn’t tell whether he’d intrigued or offended him.

“If you’re not interested, you can just say so,” he said, a little desperately.

“I am. Interested,” said Simon, the words dragging out of him like he was confessing to treason. His eyes were just a bit wider than usual. “I assumed you wouldn’t be.”

Gregor quirked a relieved smile. “You know what you once told me about assumptions,” he said, and closed the professional distance between them. With only a hint of residual hesitation, he reached out to draw Simon’s face in for a kiss.

Simon only took a moment to respond. He deepened the kiss and extended his own hands to Gregor, sliding up his back and around his shoulders.

“There are very few other circumstances,” murmured Simon, retreating just enough to get the words out, “where I would find it acceptable for someone with so much security training to put his hands on your neck.”

Gregor’s lips curved under his. “I’ve always been safe in your hands, Simon,” he said. “I’m confident that that can stretch to the literal.”

Indeed, Simon now had one hand at the back of his neck, and the other just under his jaw, cradling Gregor’s head in a way that felt both careful and secure. When he pulled away again, just enough to break the kiss, Gregor noticed for the first time that his blue eyes shaded to green near his slightly dilated pupils.

“You’re staring,” Simon said hoarsely. 

“Your eyes are beautiful,” said Gregor, honestly. “I’ve never noticed that before.”

Simon blinked, in visible surprise. “I’m not sure anyone else has either,” he said. “Including me.”

“You need a better mirror,” said Gregor, and then, with a rush of unaccustomed archness, “There’s a really good one in my bedroom. Want to see?”

Startled again, Simon actually barked out a laugh before schooling his features into a parody of ImpSec gravitas. “Of course, Sire. It’s my sworn duty to see everything, especially concerning you.” 

Gregor’s mouth twitched, in both amusement and distaste. “Very funny, Simon,” he said. “But don’t you dare call me that in bed.”

Just in case, Gregor made sure that the first thing that either of them took off was Simon’s Horus eyes.

—-

The next morning, the first rays of sunlight slanted through the near-invisible tint of the force-shield on the windows of the bedroom and onto the rich blue duvet. Remarkably, for a set of linens in a building with several hundred servants, it appeared to be less than crisp. The two figures partially underneath it were still but not asleep, enjoying the rarity of companionable silence. After awhile, Gregor spoke. 

“Simon…”

“Mmm?”

“Do you suppose I could persuade you to relocate to a bedroom in _this_ building?”

Simon let out an exaggerated sigh. “We live to -”

But he was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder and another, smiling mouth on his own.

The kiss went on for some time, despite the jangling from both chronos that began a moment later. The Emperor would understand if the morning briefing from his Chief of Security was delayed, just this once.


End file.
